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short love poem

er kam mich durch die Hand nehmen
ich wundere manchmal, mich wenn es wirklich zutreffend ist
die langen resounding Marmorflure
ein Sturm fährt auf den Tide
über ihnen alle, unten schauend
fette schwarze Dollars in einem Wein-Faßraum
ich bin in das Ödland gekommen, weil meine Seele athirst ist
im Hafen neuen Yorks
die Wiese kroch
ich denke sie gerades herrliches

 



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